


The Pathway Turns

by DixieDale



Series: The Life and Times of One Peter Newkirk [17]
Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 04:15:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14729768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: When Andrew didn't jump to read the newest letter from Coura, Newkirk got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.  By the end of the letter, well, he knew his apprehension had been justified.  But even with hard news, the loving support evident in the letter came through loud and clear.  And in Barracks 2, well, there was support there as well.  And, tucked in amongst the quiet sadness of the letter, there'd been something that caught Andrew's interest.  Maybe not now, but soon, he'd let his curiosity loose on that little item, and unbeknownst to everyone, that would lead down a path never expected.





	1. Hard News

Mail call again, and Sergeant Schultz was most pleased; today it looked like everyone in Barracks 2 had received at least one piece of mail. Hogan got his several letters as usual. The Cockroach had a letter that smelled of perfume, the Englander had a letter from his sister, Mavis, and another from his friend,Caeide; Olsen had a letter from his father; Carter had a letter from his mother, as did Sergeant Kichloe, and Carter ALSO had a letter from that little American girl, Coura.

Schultz was always pleased when his boys got mail; he knew he would look forward to hearing them read out loud, especially the letter from Caeide, though Newkirk never read that out loud on mail day, he always saved it for later; Schultz always thought that was strange. Although Newkirk always tried to act like he thought mostly of himself, Schultz knew him to be a very generous and protective person; he just didn't like anyone else to know it for some reason, it was like he was ashamed of it. And it wasn't that the Englander didn't share his letters, it was like he wanted to soak up the words deep inside before he shared them, like sharing them before that would dilute them somehow.

Well, anyway, he would get to hear the letter from Coura, because Carter always read her letters as soon as possible, and everyone enjoyed listening, well, everyone except Colonel Hogan, who always acted like hearing her letters gave him a headache and a stomach ache all at once. Schultze liked hearing those letters, though they confused him more often than not, and the boys wouldn't always explain some of the words he didn't understand. Sometimes he thought the words confused Carter too, but they just made the Cockroach and the Englander get funny expressions on their faces and sometimes laugh.

Newkirk sat with his two letters in his hands, a quiet smile on his expressive face. It'd been awhile since he'd heard from Mavis, and he had been worried; it'd be good to see what she'd been up, to know that she was safe. And Caeide, there was a peace in her letters that he craved like he craved his first cigarette of the morning, like everything was just waiting til he had it in his hands, could inhale, breathe it in. He'd open them soon, read them slowly, carefully. For now, he'd just hold them, feel them, anticipate hearing their voices in his imagination. 

He was still lost in thought, the others reading their letters, when Schultz hesitantly asked, "Carter, are you not going to read the letter from Coura today? Was it not a good letter?" He glanced up, startled; usually when Carter got a letter from Caeide's younger sister, he'd have announced it with great glee and offered to read it to everyone, with everyone cheering him on. The letters brought excitement, puzzlement, and shocked hilarity sometimes, but Carter was always anxious to read them. This time, though, Carter was sitting there, his mail in front of him, starting to fold the last one up as if to put it back in the envelope. 

Carter looked at Schultz with wide eyes; he should have known Schultz would have noticed the letter; heck, he got just as much fun out of their mail as they did, everyone knew that. Still, he'd kinda hoped this one letter had slipped by; he was pretty sure he didn't want to read this out loud, not til he had a chance to think about it more; he hadn't understood all of it, and some of it was really interesting, but . . .

"Andrew? You got a letter from Coura? Why didn't ya say somethin', mate? Yer usually crowing about it the first minute you lay yer eyes on it," Peter asked with a puzzled look. He exchanged a look with the others in the room, then looked back at Andrew, who had a really strange look on his face, a look that was making Peter get all tight in the chest.

"Andrew?? You're scaring me, mate," he whispered, not seeing the annoyed look he was getting from the door of their commander's office. Andrew looked at him, licked his lips, and cleared his voice.

"It's, well, I think she's okay, Peter, it's just, maybe I should read this through again before I read it out loud."

"Alright, Andrew, you read it through again, now. Then I want to know what it says, do you understand me, Andrew?" Peter's voice leaving no room for argument.

Andrew tried to stay firm, "it's my letter . . . " but his voice trailed off as he looked at the tall Englishman, his friend; they both knew these letters were written just as much for his benefit as Andrew's, probably much more. He nodded, and with a resolute look on his face, pulled the pages back out and started reading again. He got to the end, {"I wonder why I thought reading it again would make it any better?"} he wondered, and swallowed deeply. {"At least, it seems everything is going to be okay; I wonder why Coura wrote this, I don't know that Peter needs to hear any of this."}

And then he knew why, because Caeide tried so hard in her letters to leave a sense of peace there for Peter, heck, for all of them to cling to; because, probably, Caeide would never write about this, and Coura, maybe others in the family, thought Peter had the need, the right to know. He didn't know if they were right or not; he did know this would be a difficult letter to read out loud; he hoped the lighter parts, or at least the interesting parts Coura included would be enough to balance the shadowings of darkness. He sighed, and started to read.

**Dear Andrew,

I know I'm late with this letter; I'm sorry. I'm not going to say I've been too busy, though I probably honestly could since I'm so tired at the end of the day now all I want to do is fall into bed, since I have to be back up again before sunrise, but that's not really it. I just couldn't find the words to say what I thought I needed to write about; I kept trying, but all I'd end up with were more crumpled pages on the floor by the wastebasket. I don't know if this is any better, but I'm going to give it another try. It won't be fancy, don't expect that, and some of it I don't really understand myself, but if I can get past this letter, maybe the next one will be easier. I think it has to be.

We finished our Practicum visit with Meg, and it was really great. Grandmother said she was so pleased with what we'd learned that she would keep Rodney and his friends in mind for training some of the others, if they would be willing to. Douglas and I had gone from the meeting with Grandmother at her House to the Great Hall, since it was our Day of Remembrance, and this would be the first year we were old enough, we would actually participate, instead of just being in the audience, and to be at the Grandmother's house, at the Great Hall itself for that, well, that made it even more special. I don't know if you have that custom, but it is pretty important to us. At the Grandmother's house, the one where our leader has always lived for years and years and years, there is a Wall, with the names of Those Who Have Gone Before. In every other house where family lives, there is a book that lists those same names, and with every name goes a story of who they were, who they loved, how they lived, how they died. While the Wall and the Book only list the names, and the names of the ones each had Bonded to, the stories, well, we're taught those from the time we can understand words. It's part of how we're taught that what we do MATTERS, and will be remembered, good or bad.**

Everyone was listening; this was a far deeper, more solemn look into the girl's life than she'd usually give.

**Well, that history, that remembrance is important to us. We're taught, from our earliest years, that anytime we go back to our own home after being away, or visit another home, or visit the Great Hall, we stop for awhile in front of the Wall, or the Book, and think on those of our family and their lives and their stories; and we are taught that we should live our lives in a way that, when it's time for our names to go in the record, that we would not be ashamed to have our story recited out loud. Because they will be; all the stories are recited, not just some."

"On the Day of Remembrance, each household is given a set of names to recall, so everyone listed is recalled to memory, somewhere among all the households, and there are so many names that it takes from before sunup to well past sundown, even with the names all being divided out like that, even as big as the extended family is. Douglas and I were really happy; we were given the honor of reciting the story of Faoiltiama O'Dell, (she was also called the Bright Star Woman), and her warrior, Takleishem. That's an Apache name, it means The Grey One, which is kinda neat, since my Dad's name, Nantan Lupan, which is also Apache, (well it would be, since he is too, though of a different branch), means The Grey Wolf. Dad says the Apache culture has legends about Bright Star Woman and Takleishem also, though with a few different details, and that he'd heard the stories from the time he was a little boy, but he never thought he'd find his own Faoiltiama. Mom always gets this soft look on her face when he says that, and she always says it was just meant to be, because her name is Felane, which means Small She-Wolf in Celtic, and Faoiltiama means Lady Wolf in Celtic. Isn't that just so neat??

Anyway, we traveled all the way back to Mom and Dad's after the ceremony, waiting for the last part of our Practicum's to start; it's the shortest one, just two weeks. Well, my Mom's oldest sister Ilda showed up, and talked to the two of them for a long time, then they called us down to the kitchen. We thought we'd hear about where we were headed next, and we did, but just not the way we thought we would.

We went in and sat down, but instead of telling us who we'd be training with next, Ilda asked if we'd be willing to go to help Katy on her farm, along with some others from the family. That just didn't seem right; we'd worked at Katy's lots of times and enjoyed it, but that was farm work and farm work wasn't part of the Practicums tradition. As you've probably figured out, tradition isn't just something casual in our family, it is really IMPORTANT, and breaking with tradition, well it takes something special to cause that.

Mom and Dad weren't saying anything, but then Dad got up and brought out a bottle of whisky and poured a drink all around; that didn't help make us feel any easier, cause Dad just hardly ever drinks, doesn't even like the taste! We all sipped, no one saying anything, and he made this sound, gulped down the rest of the whisky, got up real fast, turned, then said several bad words, and threw his glass against the fireplace wall, and we all had to duck the flying glass. Mom didn't yell, just went over and put her hand on his shoulder, then laid her head there too, til he finally sighed and came and sat back down, though neither of them said what had made him so mad.

Well, turns out this would be different than what we'd done before; those of us going, if we agreed, would be in charge of her farm, taking care of everything, planning for the next season if necessary, everything! Douglas and I didn't want to ask, were really kinda afraid to ask, but finally I did "will Katy be overseeing our work?" and was told, "no, at least, not right away. To begin with, you will all be on your own. You'll need to review all her records and maps and charts, come up with a plan to handle the day-to-day operations, and if there long enough, start planning for the next planting season, harvest, buying and selling, breeding, just about everything. You two will be there til your Internship starts, and we'll get others in there to take over your places, if that's still necessary. Some of you who'll be going in first will be past Internship, so there will be enough continuity that Katy can take over again, when she can."

When Douglas asked, Mom had a real strange tone when she told him, "no, Katy will be there, just . . . well, she won't be able to help you, not in the beginning, maybe not for awhile." And Dad said some more really bad words. Ilda told us that if we were worried about not getting the Practicum experience, that this trip would probably teach us a few things not usually taught in the Practicums, and she looked really serious and sad, all at once. Well, of course, we said we'd go; we love Katy, and if she needed us, and the family said it was okay, then of course we'd go.**

Andrew glanced up at Peter through his lashes, at the shock and dismay and worry on his face, and resolutely turned back to the letter.

**We got to her farm, and my cousin Cally was there, and David, and Liam, and Chrysla, and Dieren, all cousins, and one of our much older cousins, Triane, but she wouldn't be working with us, she was pretty much staying with Katy. Our brother Michael was there, but he left soon after we got there. He came back a time or two to see Katy. He's a doctor and works in the big city now, so he couldn't stay long. 

We all got together and figured out how to make things work, and it was hard trying to keep everything going, and I don't think I've ever been so tired in my life, but we did it. I don't see how Katy does it, running the whole farm, doing all the work herself, except during some of the harvesting when she brings in help. We didn't think we'd see Katy, and we didn't much, not in the house anyway. We were in the far side of the house, not where we usually stay, but Cally said Katy was having nightmares and didn't want to disturb our sleep. But at night when we were comparing notes, it was pretty common for one of us to have seen her on the cliffs, or out in one of the fields, or with the big stock; she never came near us, never spoke, it was like she didn't even see us, but it was kinda a relief to at least know someone had SEEN her, though she was moving really slowly, not easy and graceful like she usually moves. Once I got up in the middle of the night and saw a light under the library door, and opened it to see her at the big desk, with a book in front of her; I wondered if she'd had a fall from the cliffs, or maybe been thrown by one of the horses, she had a lot of bruises that were turning that odd yellow-brown they get after awhile. She looked up and saw me, and gave me a little smile and nodded at me, but didn't say anything, so I went back to bed. 

Well, we'd been there about two weeks, when Katy showed up at the lunch table, really quiet, but it was really good to see her there. Cally had told us not to push her when we DID see her, and we didn't, just talked between us about what we had been doing, were planning. She didn't say anything, but at dinner, she was there again, and made a couple of comments, though her voice was all wrong, all dry and hoarse; we could see some of the bruises were at her throat too, so that's probably the reason. She was clearing her dishes, like everyone does, and David came up behind her, and I guess she didn't hear him, so when he touched her shoulder, she kinda made this noise and turned too fast, backed away and just about fell. Her dishes went flying everywhere! Well, he felt really bad, but Cally just told him and Liam and Dieren to go see to the milking, and that we'd see to the mess. She felt really bad, too, once she started breathing better, said she'd apologize to David later for being so foolish. She did too, but the guys were really careful not to startle her after that.**

Peter was starting to look like he was going to be sick, and Kinch too. He got up and sat down right beside Peter, and leaned into his shoulder, and LeBeau moved to do the same on the other side.

**When Michael came the next time, the Grandmother came with him, and we were all really surprised. She doesn't travel much anymore, but she said she had something to say that Katy needed to hear. We were all at the table, though, and she didn't send us away. It was really odd; she asked Chrysla to bring her the basket of eggs she'd gathered earlier, and two saucers that were just alike, and the Grandmother went through the eggs, picking out two that were the closest to matching; you couldn't have told them apart even sitting them right next to each other.

"Cally says she thinks you're ready to hear this now. There were those who thought it'd take you quite awhile longer, but you're a strong woman, always have been; well, you've had to be, haven't you? Early bonding, especially one like yours, well that takes a rare strength." She shook her head, "I've been told many a time that your line takes after me more than a mite, and it seems it's so. I was a bit younger than you when I had this lesson given me, by the Grandmother of my time." She gave Katy a really stern look, but with a lot of love in it, if you know what I mean. "I'm expecting you to heed it, especially if I'm to travel half way around the world to give it to you at my age."

She took the two eggs and held them out to Katy, one in the palm of each hand. "They look alike, now don't they. Not a speck of difference, some might say," and waited while Katy, and truth be told, the rest of us, nodded. "One much like the other, not much to favor one over the other, the same. To describe one, would be pretty much like describing the other." She sat there nodding, holding those eggs, rolling them around in her palms. Then, very carefully, she cracked one egg into the saucer, and sat the shells to one side, looking at it admiringly, holding up the saucer for everyone to admire the sheer glossy perfection of that fresh new egg. She smiled around at everyone and sat the saucer back down."

"She took the other egg and the other saucer and we thought she'd do the same, but all of a sudden, she threw the saucer against the kitchen wall, really hard, and followed it with the egg. There was egg yolk, egg whites, egg shells, bits and pieces of broken china on the wall and the floor, and we all just sat there like she'd gone totally crazy."

"Now, dearie, still wonder if they're the same?? Does that mess yonder, resemble this, affect this?" and she picked up the saucer with that new egg, again showing off its perfection. She touched Katy on the cheek, and smiled at her. Katy's eyes got really big, and she put her hands over her face and her head on the table, and I thought she was crying, and maybe she was for awhile cause there were tears and her eyes were red and she was sniffling, when she raised her head, but by then she was laughing, and shaking her head at the Grandmother."

"Now, did you get the message, so that I can have these youngsters clean up that mess, or do I need to have them leave it there til the stink of it clears your mind?!"

Katy chuckled a bit and said, "yes, Grandmother, I got the message; but I think I'll clean up the mess myself, just so I will remember it clearly." And she did, and the Grandmother had us crack some more eggs, and we had poached eggs on toast with our tea, and Katy was more like herself than I'd seen her be since our last visit. She told us later that she realized then that the problem all of us sisters seem to have with 'being subtle', well, obviously it was a family trait, and laughed just a little.

We all got together and decided to up to the Sun Stone our next rest day, well, as much of a rest day as there is on a working farm. We got there, and Katy was already there; it looked almost like she'd spent the night, like we do when we're on vigil, and she was cold and chilled, and looked really tired, but more peaceful, like.

We stayed another few days, but then she said she was ready to be on her own, and we all left, except for Cally, who was going to stay for a bit longer. I heard Cally ask her, "are you going to write?" and Katy said, "yes, of course; I always do." And when Cally ask her, "what are you going to say?" Katy just said, "well, there's that new golden sheep I'm considering experimenting with, and the sad results on that far upper field, and Dugan's latest escapades, and the new wine, and . . ." 

"That's not what I meant and you know it," and Katy smiled just a little bit and nodded, "yes, I know. I'll tell the truth, of course, that there was a bit of bother on that last project, it went all pear-shaped, but that things came about, and all is back to normal. The rest is nothing that will affect our life here, affect anything of importance; the news about Angie's new colt is far more important." 

So, it looks like I'm headed for my Internship after all, in fact, a dual Internship!. I'll try and write you again as soon as I can. My best to you and all your friends.

Coura**

 

Later, Peter opened his letter from Caeide. There, amongst the descriptions of the sun setting over the arch of the Sun Stone, about the ongoing construction at the farm, her telling of the sight of the new moon shining on the cliffs that drew her out to spend the night wrapped in a blanket on the covered back porch, news about that new golden sheep, who was said to give off a wool of such fine quality, and the failure of the flax seed from that supplier out of Cardith, and the apple wine with such rich flavor from the apples in that new portion of the orchard, and how Dugan's escape had led to a chase through this county into the next, and the fine new bay colt Angie had given birth to, and all the rest, was a brief paragraph:

"There was a bit of bother on that last project, it went all pear-shaped, but things came about, and all is back to normal."

And it was signed, "As always, Caeide".


	2. The Warrior and The Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'd just known the stories would be great! Andrew gets an answer to his letter to young Coura where he'd asked her to tell him more about those stories she and her brother told at their Remembrance Day. Between being 'introduced' to Coura's twin brother Douglas, having a suspicion confirmed and learning more about the Clan than he'd even hoped, his team mates wondered if even standing for an hour listening to Klink drone on would take that smile of contentment off his face! And that smile on LeBeau's face? NOTHING was going to erase that one any time soon!

"Mail Call, Mail Call!!" Sergeant Schultz called from his corner between the door and the corner of the bunks. That way they could only come at him from the front; he knew what being mobbed by the guys could be like, once he made that announcement. Before he'd learned to do that, he'd been just leaning his head in the door, shouting 'Mail Call!' and throwing the letters in the air, dodging back as quickly as he could. But, he missed so much of the fun that way, he'd come up with this solution and it worked well. He liked seeing the excitement on the boys' faces when they heard those words, the glee when he called their names for their letters, though he didn't like the sadness on the faces of the ones who didn't get any letters.

He especially liked it when they read their letters out loud, and if he was lucky and didn't have to be somewhere else, they didn't seem to mind him listening. He especially liked the letters that Sergeant Carter would sometimes get from that little American girl, Coura. Sometimes she included pictures and stories and those were even better! Though, that last letter had seemed more serious, a little sad, though he'd had to leave before it was finished, and unlike most of her letters, Carter had not read it out loud again, not that he was aware of. 

"Hogan, LeBeau, Kinchloe, Carter, Newkirk, Olsen, Wilson - oh, that one doesn't go to this Barracks! - Carter, here's another one for you!" He moved past the milling men, toward the stove to pour himself a cup of coffee. Usually he asked the Cockroach for a cup, but on mail day, it had just become the habit for him to help himself. 

Hogan flipped through his letters: letter from home, letter from woman, letter from man disguised as letter from woman, letter from HQ disguised as letter from woman, letter from friend at HQ disguised as letter from woman. Well, better read those last two, maybe the last three in private. He settled down at the edge of an unused bunk to read the other, keeping an eye on the guys, listening to them. He'd learned it was a good idea to keep tabs on their conversations on mail day; it was remarkable what he could learn. Hopefully, it would be a peaceful day, no disruptions; by which he meant, no silly letters from that O'Donnell girl!

If Newkirk had gotten a letter from that woman, well, there'd be no telling what it was about til later, since he wouldn't read that out loud til halfway to the next mail call, though Hogan could usually tell if he'd GOTTEN a letter by the look on his face, that small smile that only seemed to occur when he heard from her. Hogan would never understand the attraction of those letters - sheep, for pity's sake! sheep, crops, cows, horses, illiterate country people doing uninteresting things, her fixing up that new huge house for no purpose Hogan could see - really! It wasn't even like she was pretty or sophisticated or rich or anything like that!

All was quiet for a bit, then Schultz said in a coaxing voice, "Carter, are you not going to read the letter from that little girl?" and heads popped to attention.

Peter frowned, "Andrew, you've gotten a letter from Coura?" Last time a letter had come and Andrew hadn't jumped to the mark in reading it out loud, it had been a particularly uncomfortable letter, and Peter was apprehensive. He was relieved at the bright smile he received from Carter.

"Oh, yeah, I got a letter from her; I also got a letter from her twin brother! I just wanted to finish them both before I read them out loud. It's really neat! After that last letter, when she talked about The Day of Remembrance and the stories they got to tell, I asked her if she could write and tell me the story she and her brother told, and she did! That is, she wrote me, and her letter includes HER part of the story, and her BROTHER wrote to tell me HIS part of the story! Isn't that NEAT??!

Nobody heard, or at least nobody paid any attention to the groan from the corner of the room where Hogan was sitting. {"Great, not one letter, TWO letters! SHIT!"}

Carter squirmed to get in a more comfortable position, accepted a cup of coffee from LeBeau, everyone shouting down Newkirk's protest of "look, mates, thought we weren't going to be drinking coffee when Andrew reads any more of Coura's letters! I don't fancy scrubbing down the barracks again, you know!"

Andrew reassured him, "I don't think that's going to happen with these, Peter," then he frowned, "well, I don't think so anyway." He knew that sometimes the things the guys reacted so strongly to were things he didn't really understand, so he guessed he shouldn't be making any promises like that.

Newkirk was more than a little curious about the letter from the boy; he hadn't had any contact with the youngster, except by mention in Coura's letters, though he'd worked with some of the boys from the Clan when he was in London. He remembered them as being intelligent, much advanced for their age, though not nearly so much as the girls, but easier to deal with than the girls, without the hot tempers and outrageous ideas. {"This should be interesting, I'd wager."}

**Letter from Coura O'Dell to Andrew J Carter

Hi, Andrew,

It was so nice to get your letter, and of course, I'll be glad to tell you the story of Bright Star Woman and the Warrior. I asked Mom and Dad about it, what with it being family history and all, and they said it would be fine since you're already sort of family, but that perhaps Douglas might like to tell the counterpart, and he agreed to do that, so you should be getting a letter from him too. You know what is really neat??! When we went to work with Rodney's group, one of the guys there is part Apache and he says he remembers the stories too! He even had a couple of new ones that we hadn't heard before, and we wrote them down and Dad added them to our family records. 

Before I forget it, Cally says to tell Louie 'hi' for her, and to ask him for his recipe for Crepes de la Chandeleur; don't ask me how she knows he'd have one, she just says 'well of course he will', so I promised I would. She says she wants to see how they are different than Russian Blini. She's never been overly domestic, at least in the kitchen, though she's a fine gardener and seamstress - she's the one who taught me to sew. She's one of the best Contract people we've had, of course, but she says she needs to branch out now into different areas now that she has more time, since the family won't let her take on another Contract. They used to limit us to two, with the war they increased it, but she's just finished the maximum they'll allow, especially after that last time where she kinda lost her temper! Well, I'm sure they eventually found all the pieces!

She's been busy collecting recipes for when she settles in one place after the war, though it is undecided where that will be; she has all the basic family recipes, of course, and a lot she got while she was traveling, so she's trying to get special ones now that she's naming after whoever she gets them from; she got one of the best recipes for Bubble and Squeak from an old friend of Katy (calls it 'Maudie's Talking Skillet!'), and Mom's Colcannon recipe, and Miss Mary gave her a favorite Vareniky recipe that can have all different kinds of fillings, everything from sweet to savory, so it is really useful. Dad gave her several from the tribes, including that fry bread we all like so much, and the spicy soup we have so often in the winter. She seems to be concentrating on vegetable dishes, soups and breads, and such so far; she says meat will still be in short supply after the war, at least til the herds build back up again, and she needs to know how to handle herself in the kitchen when it's her turn to cook - that is, if she's GIVEN a turn! She says the other two know their way most capably around the pots and pans, though with different cuisines, but she says it's only fair she be ABLE to do her share, and while she'll leave the fancy stuff to them, it'll be good for her to have some good basic things she can make.

She's asked Katy to let her come visit and use the big library for some other research; she says it's not just in the kitchen she'll need to pull her fair weight! And that while she knows knowledge isn't the same thing as experience, she's hoping to at least not get caught flat-footed! She's also learning as much as she can from Katy's friend Maudiewho gave her the Bubble and Squeak recipe; she knows all about running a pub, which in some ways is kinda like a restaurant, so that should be helpful too. And another friend, Mari, knows a lot of things Cally says will be most useful as well, though she kinda grins when she says that!**

Peter let out a very audible groan, and sneaked a quick look over at LeBeau. {"Poor sod! I think 'e's done for; seems she's made up 'er mind, and if she's got Marya on the same page, poor Louie ain't got a chance!!"} Still, he wasn't so sure he felt really sorry for his friend; it might be volatile, it might be crazy, it might be exhausting, but somehow he thought Louie would enjoy himself enough to make it all worthwhile. He was a little shocked, though, by the return look from LeBeau, complete with a totally wicked raise of one brow, a look of knowing, amusement, and more than a little anticipation!

And Peter had another troubling thought - the thought of Caeide being in possession of that library and all its 'research information'. {"Doubt she's time to do any research along those lines, anyway; too busy with those bleedin' sheep,"} he reassured himself. If ever he DID end up at Haven, HE wanted to be the one with the greater stockpile of that sort of information, not her. {"At least, I THINK I do,"} he mused to himself, getting a thoughtful look on his face as he contemplated the possibilities if it were otherwise. He found himself inhaling sharply and giving a deep gulp. And if he was reading it right, they'd gotten Maudie and Marisol involved in this, though he couldn't imagine how!

**Katy inherited the farm's library along with everything else, of course; it's been in the family for ever and ever; at the old homestead, it had its own separate building, and some of the previous owners had some quite varied family groupings, so some of the books and drawing portfolios are very interesting and far-ranging, if you know what I mean. Dad said he didn't know what anyone needed research for, it's all pretty obvious, but he noticed and raised his eyebrows at Mom's wide grin. She got up and whispered something to him and he got this flush and his eyes got wider and he said, "THAT notion came from the library??!" and he grinned back at her, and suggested maybe THEY should visit Katy for some library time too! She laughed and agreed, so looks like the family will be making a trip soon.

It's funny; I was right, Douglas and I are NOT going to be the youngest, it's really evident now, and I thought that would slow them down a bit, but it doesn't seem to have, at least not yet.

I'm going to spend some time in that library too; maybe I can come back with some ideas to discuss with Ciena, about our Kevin project, and discuss that with Cally as well, since it seems we'll have a lot in common, you know. Douglas just wrinkled up his face and said he supposed he could use his time to go through her sheep breeding records, and work with the horses, but I did notice just a hint of interest. Did I mention that the guys just don't mature at the same rate as the girls in our family?? That means Douglas is probably about to the fifteen year old equivilent in the Outlanders, while I am closer to the eighteen or nineteen equivilent, according to Mom. She says he'll catch up, but it takes some time, so I have to be patient with the fact I can't talk to him about everything the way I used to be able to do. It's not that we don't talk about stuff, it's just that sometimes, he gets such a look on his face!**

Peter felt deep sympathy for Douglas; he rather thought if HE looked in the mirror right now, or while hearing some of Coura's letters, he'd know just what that LOOK looked like! He noticed that Andrew was looking a little puzzled, which he was just as glad to see, as long as Andrew didn't start asking any questions Peter didn't want to answer! And, he noted with interest, seems the parents had another bundle in the oven, or more, remembering the two sets of twins in the family. Lordy, that'd make what, nine, possibly ten?! He glanced over at Hogan, not surprised to see the sour look on his commander's face; well, no need to look back over in that direction for awhile; wasn't like that look was going to change any time soon!

**Anyway, there are a lot of stories about them, but this is the story of how Bright Star Woman and the Warrior first met and claimed each other.

*Many years ago, when the world was newer and perhaps simpler than now, a village of the Clan made its home in the mountains above the grasslands in a place far away from their traditional home. Their ancestors had come out of wanderlust, out of curiosity, and had stayed because of the richness of the land and the isolation it provided, there being no close settlements of Outlanders to challenge their way of life, only nomadic tribes with whom they were able to establish peaceful relationships. It was not uncommon for the men of the Clan to seek life partners among the tribes, based upon their mutual needs and desires, although the women of the Clan did so more rarely, although into the second and third generations, many of those born of the partnerships with the tribes did partner with the Clanswomen, those relationships also being fruitful. 

It was in those days that a young girl did make her first quest, venturing far from her home into the surrounding mountains, and when she returned and proclaimed her vision to the Council as was the tradition, she was proclaimed Faoiltiama, Lady Wolf, and given the Clan name of Bright Star Woman, though her Moon name was known only to her and to the Grandmother, as was tradition. In due time, she was taught to tread the MoonPaths, and became one who could do so at will, and many a night did she go forth, to walk the sky and learn from what she could see and from what the MoonPaths taught her. 

On one such night, toward the dawning, she chanced to see a figure making its way up through the mountain pass, and something about that figure caught her eye. She drew closer and watched with great interest as a young man, one of the nomad tribes, stalked and killed a great elk, packing the animal away on the tall stallion he'd left at the base of the mountain. She listened as he gave thanks to the mountain for letting the elk grow to maturity there, thanked the great gods for leading him to this kill, and thanking the elk for providing meat for his people, assuring it that all parts would be used, nothing given to waste. His voice pleased her, being deep and smooth and rich, and his form pleased her as well, being graceful and strong in the shadows. She smiled to herself, wished blessings on him for enriching her night, and returned to her MoonPaths. And she thought of him again, many times over, in the coming days and weeks.

This was not the only time she encountered him in her trips along the MoonPaths, and she came to know to look for him in those early pre-dawn hours before she returned to her village. Sometimes, now, she descended from the MoonPaths to approach closer, drawn by him in some way, though she never came close while in her maiden form, but only as she ran on four feet, in the dense coat of a mountain wolf. She knew this was not wise, as a wolf would not be a welcome fireside guest, but she also knew to walk the nightime lands, away from the MoonPaths, as a maiden was even more unwise. And she did, again and again, descend from the MoonPaths to walk the land itself, drawing closer and closer to this man, one she now recognized as a warrior by his markings and the ornaments he wore. 

The time came of claiming, when the people of the Clan did come together to look, to consider, to perhaps decide on a partner or partners in their lives; once each year did the time of claiming come, and any yet unclaimed or thinking of adding to their claiming were welcome to come and see, come and be seen. As she had now reached the age to attend such a gathering, being of thirteen summers, Faoiltiama did bathe in the blessed waters, attire herself in the linen surcoat and kilt, both in the deep russet that tradition called for, and went forth to the Council of Elders, to be welcomed, blessed, and passed forward into the gathering. To her surprise, she was turned away, though with gentleness. "You are Ta-Shea. You have already claimed, though you have not yet BEEN claimed, Faoiltiama. This gathering is not for you. Go forth, search out your own, in your own time, but your own is not in this place." And in some dismay, for she knew not of what they spoke, Ta-Shea not being something she had heard before except in the oldest of the old tales told around the fire, she returned to her dwelling, and once again, sought the MoonPaths, hoping for enlightenment. And the MoonPaths reassured her of the rightness of this, and soothed her, and she walked in peace.

Still, with each treading of the MoonPath she did look for the warrior, and sometimes would catch sight of him, and her heart was gladdened by that sight. Sometimes she would follow after, still in the guise of the wolf, and as it had to be, there came the night he caught sight of her in the form so many of her people did wear, along with many others, of course, some walking as bear or cougar or coyote, or flying as eagle or hawk, some even as more fantastical creatures known only to legend, when they were not walking on two legs only. Bigger than any wolf he had seen, coat the color of the blood moon, graceful, and though he was wary, he seemed not to fear her.

They looked at each other cautiously from across a narrow canyon floor, and with a bound, she was away, shaking with the unaccustomed closeness, the sight of his face now clearly seen for the first time. She lay in the underbrush, out of sight, and wondered at what she was feeling, a drawing beyond any she had felt before, and she thought of what the Council had told her, and resolved to ask the MoonPaths if this was the one she had somehow claimed. She had not done so knowingly, and though being of one of the oldest lines of the Clan, no woman of her line had ever chosen outside the Clan that she was aware.

She retreated to the MoonPaths, walked them til dawn came, and returned the next night, to learn that indeed, he was the one she was bound to, though there was no certainty that he would be bound to her in return. This was the Ta-Shea, the one-sided bonding she had heard about only in legend, it being most rare, sometimes skipping several generations before it occurred again. Sometimes it was realized, the bonding being completed in its time; sometimes, it was not, and the one who was Ta-Shea would live their lives among the Clan or without, as they chose, but always alone in their bed, and there would be no child to carry on their name or their blood.

Being unsure how she felt about this path she was given to walk, now separated from the minglings and matchings of the Clan, she drew further apart, and even forbore to walk the MoonPaths as she had once done. She left the dwelling she'd lived in since her naming, and took up a new place, away from the village, and made it a place of her own. The longing grew, however, to see his face again, that warrior she'd seen so many times, and with a great sigh, one moonlit night, she did light the sacred fire, did draw in the sweet sage and other herbs that let her walk with ease, and did journey forth. 

Toward the dawning she did see him, returning from a wandering, and she did come forth, creeping toward him, four feet moving slowly, head lowered to gaze upon him to her fill. She was so entranced, she failed to take heed that he had seen her, and was easing his way toward her, until he was within arms reach, his knife firmly in his hand. She leaped up, and started to run, him following close behind her, up into the mountains; no matter her twists and turns, her cunning, always was he behind her, til they came to a mountain lake filling the end of the narrow lands she was traveling through.

Exhausted, she paused, panting, turning to watch him approaching quickly behind her. She stilled, and the rightness of the moment came upon her and filled her with its presence. As he came within the last three arms lengths to her, she dropped the coat of the wolf, and stood there before him in her maiden form. Quickly she turned and dove into the lake and swam to its middle, turning again to watch him. Stunned, he stared after her, then slowly, then more quickly divested himself of his garments and dove into the lake after her. Even more quickly did she swim away, toward the small island in the middle of the lake, pulling herself out, red hair streaming to her knees, only to find him right behind her, catching her by the arm, turning her to him. They dropped to their knees together, and they looked upon each other, knowledge filling each of them in the rightness of this, and there, on the billow of land carpeted with the softest of green grasses, with the waters surrounding them, did the claiming become complete, did Faoiltiama become one with Takleishem, that oneness carrying them forward to the end of their days, and possibly beyond.*

Well, that's the part I recited for the Day of Remembrance. Douglas's counterpart will be in his letter. We always liked those stories, especially since we are supposedly descended from their line, on both sides, from my Mom and my Dad, them being cousins a few times removed.

Oh, I have to go, Andrew! I'm being called, and it sounds like something serious. I'll write later, and I hope you enjoyed the story.

Coura**

 

Andrew sat back, grinning. "Wow! That was really kinda neat, wasn't it?! And I think the one from Douglas is just as good, but different, you know."

Peter was still thinking of that claiming on the island in the middle of the lake, and he was glad there was another letter, since he didn't want to get up from that bench anytime soon. It had been far too easy to put himself into that story, and into that claiming, and his breathing was just a tad more shallow than was normal for him, not to mention what had happened to the fit of his uniform trousers. He intercepted an amused look between Kinch and LeBeau, and he figured his state wasn't actually a secret, but he sincerely hoped Hogan was far enough away that he hadn't caught on; that would NOT go over well!

 

**Letter from Douglas O'Dell to Andrew J Carter

Hello, Andrew,

We haven't met, but from talking to Coura and my sisters, I feel you are already part of the family. I'm Douglas, by the way, twin brother to the incorrigible Coura. Not that SHE looks at herself that way, of course, but even my sisters raise their eyebrows at her, more often than not, and my other brothers? Well, she flat out mystifies them most of the time.

My Dad says she's very, very much like my Mom was at her age, the year before they Bonded, and that gives me a lot of respect for my Dad, even more than I already had! It'd take a lot of guts to take on someone like Coura as a Bondmate, a lot more than I'd have, that's for sure! Mom just laughs at Dad, and says "Oh, yes, you poooor thing you!" and he laughs right back and they usually end up disappearing for a couple of hours. I've decided that's why we're going to have another baby or two in the family, so I just intend to blame it all on Coura!

One thing you can count on, if it's a subject that should be avoided, Coura will bring it up; if it's a locked door, Coura will pick the lock; if it's some figure in authority trying to tell her what to do (other than our parents and the Council and the Grandmother, of course), she'll thumb her nose at them and do exactly what she likes. Which makes things pretty exciting, of course, but like I've heard Rodney say so often, "I like a simple, uncomplicated life!"; I really prefer things to go on a little LESS exciting. Of course, seeing how well Rodney's plan for a simple, uncomplicated life has gone, I guess I might as well just accept that what you prefer isn't necessarily what you get, or even, as he laughs and tells me, not even what you actually WANT, in the long run, if you know what I mean.**

"Well, turns out 'e can talk just as much as Coura can, anyway!" Peter thought with a suppressed laugh. "im saying Andrew is like part of the family is nice, I suppose, though that makes me a bit uneasy for some reason, though come to think on it, 'e does SOUND a bit like Andrew! And, yes, I know all about 'ow Goniff's plan for a 'simple uncomplicated life' turned out, and just how not-upset 'e is by it all!"

**Coura says you are interested in stories about Takleishem and Faoiltiama, like the ones she and I recited on The Day of Remembrance. Mine is sort of a continuation of hers, overlaps maybe a bit, depending on how you take it. It's more descriptive, not so intense, but is the proper one to follow hers, so we were taught. I've always liked these stories, even when they get a little, well, don't know how to describe it, though I'm sure Coura would, so I'm for sure NOT going to ask her! I've learned a FEW things over the years. This one, though, was one of the first ones I remember from when I was growing up. I always thought of it as 'Takleishem and The Wolf'.

*Many, many years ago, before the white man had ventured into the lands of the Apache, when the Apache hunted the buffalo of the grasslands and the elk of the mountains, there was a young warrior. Takleishem had been the name given to him after his spirit quest, meaning The Grey One, and in keeping with his name, he preferred hunting in the nighttime hours, returning to his village in the grey mists of dawn. He returned to an empty dwelling, since he had taken no woman of the tribe to him as wife, nor any as lover, and was of an age where he no longer wished to dwell in the communal hut with the other bachelors.

Indeed, he had built his first dwelling with the aid of his friend and fellow warrior, Jonatai, when the two of them had thought to share it equally, and there had been much shared laughter and shared sweat and shared loving in the building of that first dwelling. When the tribe moved on, they built the next dwelling together, as well, but by the third moving, Jonatai had not moved on with them, having fallen afoul of a rattlesnake strike as they hunted the great buffalo for winter hides. Jonatai, his body resting in a stone-sealed cave, his weapons lying beside, stayed behind, forever lost to Takleishem, but never forgotten. Takleishem did not return to the bachelors' hut, nor did he take a lover from there, or a wife from those who were offered to him, by themselves or by their families, but dwelt alone and kept to himself.**

That whole paragraph raised a few eyebrows, though not Peter's; he knew full well the Clan thought nothing of those kinds of relationships, and he wasn't surprised the youngster was so matter of fact about it. He thought it would be interesting to see if any discussion came from it though; he always had to guard what he said, what he would reveal. It was a lifelong habit, but he did sometimes get more than a little tired of it.

 

*Takleishem remained with the village, but not really of the village. He spent his nights hunting, sometimes far from where the village camped; more and more, he went farther and farther afield, until the days he spent within the village were far fewer than the ones he spent elsewhere, and the tribe became unaccustomed to his presence. It was a rich time, they had no need of meat from his hunting, and gradually, he stopped returning to the village entirely. When they moved on the next time, he had not yet returned and did not follow after them, nor did he join them in the next move or the next. Sometimes through the years his name would be mentioned and stories told, but no one knew his fate, though at those times much speculation arose - did he still wander, had he been taken by the enemies of the people, had he fallen in battle or in the hunt.

Then the day did come when Takleishem returned to the campfire, at his side a small boychild whom he called Jonatai, and a young girl whom he called Evening Star, and following close behind them, a huge wolf with fur the color of fire embers. The warriors hurried to grab up their weapons, but he called to them to lay them aside, that the wolf was his companion and would do no harm, as long as he and the children were not threatened.

Takleishem had returned to present his children to the tribal leaders at the appointed ages. The girl he declared to be of 'two-spirits', and she dressed as a boy and acted accordingly, although more aloof than would have been with either a boy or girl of her age, acting as one far older. She wore her dark red hair bound into tight braids, those bound to the back of her head, and she cast no longing glances at the men of the camp, as they would expect one her age to do, nor at the maidens either. The boychild was all small boy, dark of hair, a gleam of mischief in his dark eyes, and a ready smile on his lips. Inquiry was made after the children's mother, but the only answer received was 'her spirit is with us, always', and with that they had to be content, had to make whatever they chose to make of that answer. The presentation of the children were made in all ceremony, in keeping with tradition, and from that camp did the girl depart on her spirit quest.

They sat in wait, there mingling with the village, in harmony and welcome, for the most part, though none were comfortable with the great beast who ranged always in sight. Some of the warriors approached their leader, suggesting it would be best to slay the beast, but the wrath of Takleishem was great when he heard of this, and no one was willing to have that rage fall upon them, not for the winning only of a red wolfskin. One lone warrior thought to defy this, only to be confronted by a snarling beast and an equally snarling boy, with knife in hand. Takleishem made a lesson of that warrior, and no other such attempts were made. 

In due time, the girl returned from her quest, was given the ceremonial weapons and ornaments reflecting her new status as adult, neither woman nor man, but truly 'two-spirits' dwelling in one body, and with that achieved, the small family did depart. There were those who thought to follow, to see where Takleishem made his dwelling; however that was forbidden by the elders, knowing it would have no good ending. They had discussed it between them, those elders, and one of the oldest did put forth his remembering of the far-ones, Shantai, who walked as man but also as creatures other than man, and he had his own idea as to the mother of those children.

"Have you seen how she protects them and how they guard her? Have you seen children with those eyes before? No, the fierceness of the wolf lies underneath, and the cunning, and the strength. That he thought well enough of us to bring the children to us, to present them to us, we must content ourselves with that and seek no more. It would not be wise." And they considered his wisdom, and nodded their heads, and it was so ordered, and so obeyed.

And the stories began to be told, of how a child of the tribe, when lost, had been found and guarded by a great red wolf who had transformed into a pale woman with red hair reaching to her knees. She had carried the child back to the village, and upon being asked, had said she was called Faoiltiama, but the child called her Bright Star Woman, saying that was how the warrior, who waited on the outskirts of the village had addressed her. How one on his first quest, surrounded by enemies not heeding the protection to be given one on such a journey, had been pulled from the fray by a warrior and a great wolf, with other wolves helping to pull the enemies from their horses; the questing one said some of the smaller wolves had changed into laughing youths and maidens, to be called to order by a woman then taking the place of the red wolf, her bearing a wolfskin over her arm. And when hard times came, one winter, game and other foods appeared on a travois pulled by a grey stallion, accompanied by the warrior, and a small band of wolves, led by a fair skinned woman with hair the color of the sunset, helping the tribe to survive til the spring brought new game to their arrow points.

As the years went by, again and again would Takleishem and the great wolf, now sometimes on two legs as a woman, sometimes on all fours, visit the tribe, and sometimes with other wolves accompanying them, all of them under the protection of the Elders, bringing children as they reached the proper ages to be presented to the tribe, to depart for their own quests from the village, to receive their tribal name, and then, they would depart again, back to wherever they had chosen to make their life.

For while they gave their children the means to return to the tribe if they ever chose to, and they gave aid to the tribe as the need and the opportunity came, they had no desire to live among the tribe, no more than they desired to live among the Clan. Though, to the Clan also were the introductions made, and deeper contact kept therein. To that end, when the children were grown to where they would seek and chose life mates of their own, most chose within the ranks of their cousins of the Clan or those of the Tribe, and so the heritage did continue, that of Takleishem, The Grey One, and Faoiltiama, Lady Wolf, Bright Star Woman.**

The room was quiet at the end of the fantastical stories, except for a rather rude snort from one corner of the far bunk. Carter had a satisfied, oddly contented smile on his face, and he gave a deep sigh, "Wow! I wonder how many other stories there are like that?" And there wasn't a lot of discussion, as sometimes occurred after the letters from Coura, or even the letters from Caeide, just some gentle reflection and a lingering sense of wonder. No matter the fantastical elements to the stories, there was something there that somehow touched everyone in the room. Well, almost everyone.}


	3. Andrew and The Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Andrew doesn't return from a simple mission, Peter is frantic with worry, but getting less cooperation from Hogan than he hoped for in finding their missing team mate. While a dream points the brash Cockney in a direction he never expected, will it really lead him to finding the accident-prone young man or will it only lead to another dead end?

"Where the bloody 'ell is 'e??!" Peter snarled, four hours past the time when Carter should have returned from a rendezvous with the Underground leader Rene. "We've not 'eard of any extra patrols, nothing out of the ordinary. KNEW I should 'ave gone with 'im," turning a defiant look at their leader, who had insisted this had been a one-man job, the others needing to rest up for the mission the following night. Since Carter wouldn't be needed on THAT mission, it had only made sense for it to be HIM making that rendezvous, but now, here it was hours after he should have been back, and not a word, not a sign.

Kinch was frowning and looking concerned, but also thinking Peter might just be overreacting a bit, after all delays happened; it had happened to each of them, and not all of them had been ominous, sometimes just an unexpected roadblock, a wandering patrol, occasionally an unexpected opportunity of female companionship, though that was more often Hogan, sometimes LeBeau or Newkirk, not usually Carter. {"And as for me, well, forget it!"} he thought with a rueful look. He didn't get out camp very much in the first place, much less be in a position to meet a willing woman!

LeBeau was thinking more along the lines that it didn't do much good for them all to have stayed behind to 'rest' if they were going to be fretting themselves over the fate of their sometimes accident prone, more than slightly clumsy team mate.

"Kinch, get on the radio to the Underground to see if he made the meeting, if there was any trouble they were aware of," Hogan ordered with a worried frown. While he did think Peter was overreacting, still, this was something he'd expect more from Newkirk than from Carter, Newkirk being known for being distracted by most anything in a skirt, though Hogan thought most of that was an act, to tell the truth. 

They waited, Newkirk still fuming, though silently now, while Kinch made the call. It took awhile for Kinch to get a response, all the while the lot of them expecting to see that narrow face pop up from below, all ready with a convoluted, overly-detailed explanation for being now over FIVE hours late. They waited in vain, and the expressions were glum indeed when Kinch returned, turning to downright gloomy when Kinch reported that the rendezvous had gone as expected, no problems then, no problems reported since, but still, no Carter! It was now too late to send anyone out to search, it being full daylight, though Hogan was urged to come up with SOMEWAY to let them do just that.

"I'm sorry, guys, it's just not possible! Klink has been on a tear, Burkhaulter is due by mid-morning for that meeting, and you know how they are when that happens. No, we can't do anything til after dark, that's final." Newkirk was downright rebellious now, but Kinch and LeBeau convinced him that Hogan was right, no matter how unpleasant the facts were, and that they'd have to wait.

That night they went out, darkened faces, dark clothes to start the search, making their way back over the route Carter should have taken from the rendezvous point. Nothing, not a trace, and the dawn was only a few hours away before they reluctantly returned to the camp, to catch a couple of hours of sleep before the roll call. None of them had wanted to return; they'd wanted to continue the search, but that just wasn't realistic.

{"Bugger 'realistic'"} Newkirk thought to himself with a bitter taste in his mouth. {"Andrew's out there somewhere, probably needing our 'elp, and we're supposed to 'get some sleep!'"} He had long ago put himself in the role of protector to young Carter, and not being able to live up to that wasn't something that went down easily. Still, he crawled into his bunk, muttering to himself, and somewhat to his amazement did drift off into a light sleep.

He woke with a start, jumped down from the bunk and slammed in through the door to Hogan's quarters at a run. Ignoring his commander's "Newkirk, what the hell??!", he yanked down the maps from the cubby on the wall, flipping through them one by one til he came to the one he'd pictured in his dream.

"But what the bloody 'ell would Andrew be doing there??!" he demanded, not speaking to any of the others now piled into the room after him, or Hogan who was standing there in shocked amazement, but demanding it of the open air. He turned rapidly, dragging one hand through his disheveled hair, pointing to a spot to the south of the camp, the other side of camp than where the rendezvous would have taken place. "There, mates, 'e's in there, somewhere, though I can't imagine why!" He turned to Hogan, "we've got to go find 'im, Colonel!" while Hogan just stared at him in disbelief.

"It'll be broad daylight soon, Corporal, and like you said, there's no reason he'd even be IN that area. What makes you so sure he is?" was the demand, to which Peter realized there was no good answer, no sane answer.

He pursed his lips and frowned, "I just KNOW it, Colonel, don't ask me 'ow! I was sleeping and suddenly I just KNEW where the clumsy little bugger was!" Just then, they heard the stirring in the compound, knew roll call was just minutes away, and Hogan sent them to their bunks quickly, just in time for Schultz to come through the barracks door with his usual, "Rous, Rous, everybody out, roll call!" and with an anguished look toward Hogan, Newkirk and the others streamed out. They had made it through the previous roll calls with some fancy footwork to convince Schultz they were all here, and although they were pretty sure he didn't really believe it, he again allowed them to cover up Carter's absence. 

Klink was in no mood to be manipulated, and daytime use of the tunnels was ruled out by the heavy patrol outside the fence, so they again had to wait til nightfall before they could leave. Hogan had given in to Newkirk's entreaties, figuring they'd already searched in the logical places, searching in the illogical places might actually make as much sense as anything else.

They spread out, keeping in visual sighting of each other, not wanting to lose another man, when Newkirk snapped his head to the left. He gave a slight whistle and then took off at a greater speed, though still with some caution. When LeBeau and Kinch caught up with him, he told them, "I 'eard 'im, and there was a flash of light up ahead. 'E's got to be there," just as Hogan joined them. They carefully made their way over the uneven ground, to halt at the edge of a deep gully, and there, on a ledge below, lay the limp body of their team mate. Uncoiling a rope, the others braced themselves to hold the rope steady while Newkirk lowered himself down beside Carter.

"Andrew? Andrew, mate, what's all this, now?" he asked, urgently but gently, but getting no response. He sped his hands over the man's body, finding what was certainly a broken arm, and blood on the side of Carter's head. He shimmied back up the rope. "I'd say 'e 'as a broken arm, split open 'is 'ead, probably a concussion; couldn't tell anything else, and 'e's not talking, not anymore!"

It was risky bringing him up not knowing if he had any other injuries, but there wasn't any choice, so Newkirk made his way back down, rigging a sling by which the limp body was carefully raised to the level ground above. When the rope was lowered again, he quickly made his way up it, joining his team mates. Kinch picked Carter up carefully, and they made their way back to camp, coming in the emergency tunnel. They got the slight man into the spare bunk in Hogan's quarters and sent for Wilson, who confirmed Newkirk's diagnosis.

"And you say you heard him call?" he asked incredulously, "Newkirk, I doubt he's been conscious any time the past several hours! Odd though, he's chilled, of course, but not worse; I can't imagine why he doesn't have hypothermia, as cold as it's been out there!"

But Peter knew what he'd heard, just as he knew he'd seen that flash of light from Andrew's flashlight; he reached for his friends belt and pulled it out, "see, 'e was awake enough to signal with this," pressing the button, only to have nothing happen. He frowned, "guess the batteries 'eld out just long enough," though when he shook the flashlight slightly, they all heard the rattle of broken glass, and a closer look showed the shattered bulb inside. Wilson just shook his head and looked doubtful, but set the broken arm, cleaned and bandaged the gashed head, and prepared to make his report that Carter had been trying to fix that top spare bunk when he slipped and fell to the floor, hitting the rails of the lower bunk on his way down. That would hopefully be enough to satisfy Schultz and the Kommandant. Louie dashed to 'fix' that spare bunk to make the accident look realistic.

Just then Andrew gave a groan, and moved his head, "Andrew! Andrew lad, are you back with us then?" Peter exclaimed, and Carter opened his eyes and gave a weak smile.

"Hey, Peter. Hey, guys. I knew you'd find me; she said you would, that I just had to hold on for awhile longer." He closed his eyes then, and drifted off, to the puzzled exchange of looks between the men standing around him. 

When he awoke the next time, he was stronger, able to sit up and drink the soup prepared for him by LeBeau, able to better answer the questions presented to him. "Well, after I left the rendezvous, there was a whole bunch of new patrols in the woods, so I figured I'd circle around, but then I kinda got mixed up and ended up going in the wrong direction, and then, when I figured THAT out, there was this rock and I kinda slipped and then I was falling and I hit real hard. When I woke up, it was really cold and my arm hurt and my head hurt and I knew I couldn't call for help or the Krauts could hear me, and I tried to climb out but I just kept slipping backwards, and I got really thirsty and I kept thinking about that soup Louie was going to have waiting for me, and I knew you wouldn't know where to find me, and . . ". His voice drifted off, and his pale face and anxious eyes came up to meet theirs.

"I was really kinda scared, to tell the truth," but then he got a big grin on his face, "especially when I saw that really big wolf looking at me over the edge, WOW! but then SHE was there, and she told me it'd be okay, that she'd get word to you, tell you where to find me, that the ciye, the wastelakapi would come and get me out of that place. And she brought me water in her hands, so I wasn't thirsty anymore, and she had some food, like fry bread sort of, tucked in a pouch so I wasn't thinking so much about Louie's soup, well except that it'd have gone really good with that bread. And she lay down to the back of me and pulled me up real close, and she had this big thick dark red fur coat, like something that Russian woman Marya would wear, and she covered both of us up real good, and she kept talking to me, all the time til she heard you guys, and she called out to let you know where we were and she held up her hand and there was a spark of light, just for a minute. Then she kissed me on the cheek and gave me this really neat grin and winked at me, and told me she'd see me later. Next thing I knew, I was waking up here!" They looked at each other, then back at Andrew, then at each other again.

"Just who was this, Andrew?" Newkirk asked cautiously.

Andrew's eyes grew really big, "I don't know for sure, but I think it might have been Caeide; she had dark red hair, all loose and soft and long, and she was really pale, and had that same kinda lilt to her voice."

Kinch gave a loud sigh, "and someone's been listening to too many of Coura's tall tales," only to fall silent as Andrew drew up his hand, that had remained in a tight clench since his rescue, and opened it. There, on his palm, lay a snatch of coarse red hair, like a bit from a red fox, or maybe a red wolf.

"So just how DID you guys know where to find me?" he asked, with a puzzled look.

"Came to me in a dream it did, Andrew lad," was the strained answer from the tall Englishman, "just came to me in a dream," and he looked around at the others in entreaty, as if to say "someone give me a better explanation, PLEASE!!"


	4. Peter and The Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter drops in on an old friend and an old mystery is solved, along with finding out Andrew had left out a little bit of information about HIS little adventure. Andrew, you little devil you!

He was wandering aimlessly, down the cliffs, across the green fields dotted with sheep, the view of the sea to his right, the big house below and to the left. He didn't know when or how he'd gotten here; he'd been visiting here more often now, and it was becoming more and more familiar to him. This was the first time he'd met anyone though. She sat there, in the middle of the worn path, her shaggy head tilted to one side in surprise, as if puzzled by his presence in her territory.

"Well, don't blame me; wasn't my idea after all! I'm not the one who decided to come visiting thru my dreams," he grumbled at her, though he felt a little bad at giving what seemed like a scolding, when that first visit was what had allowed them to rescue young Andrew. He could hardly regret that; in fact, knew he owed her a massive debt of thanks for that, but he hadn't expected it to become a frequent thing, this visiting, this traveling, especially when it was HIM doing the visiting, the traveling now.

She stood, came close to him, tall enough to reach to his waist and above, arching and rubbing against him, circling him, again and again, as if she were a great cat marking him as her own, a low rumbling sound in her throat completing the picture. He tried to ignore just how that rubbing, that repeated stroking was making him feel, and he supressed a low groan as he felt himself respond. 'Bloody 'ell!'

She turned to go ahead of him down the path, and he snapped back to attention, "now, just wait a bleedin' minute! At least you could turn to where I can talk to you, yes, and to where you can answer me back!" She ignored him, just waving that long brush of a tail at him, and muttering to himself about stubborn women, (he thought he heard a muffled snort at that!) he resigned himself to following after her. They reached the house, entered and he followed her up the stairs and into the room on the right. Now only three or four paces ahead of him, she turned, reared up on her hind legs, and dropped the guise at her feet.

He gulped, "Andrew didn't mention that, 'e didn't," taking in the fact that without the fur, she was stark naked!

"Andrew wouldn't have, though I wouldn't mind hearing him try! Aye, and to watch your face as he did!" she chuckled, turning to pick up a light robe from the chair and pull it around herself; he rather regretted that, he found he rather liked her this way, all damp and lush and blossoming forth, so to speak! And, somewhat absently he noted that she WAS a natural redhead, not that he'd had reason to doubt it.

"He didn't seem to mind, though, not that I could tell." She looked at him with a sly grin, "and as for clothing, or lack thereof," and he looked down at himself, to give a yelp to realize that he was wearing only his nightshirt, {"well, could 'ave been worse, I suppose,"} he groaned, {"though that tent in front don't make this any easier!"}

"Come, love, sit and talk, if that's what you've come for," she motioned him to the big chair. Her eyebrow arched, and she grinned even more broadly, "or is that what you've come for?" glancing over at the big bed behind her, and he found himself tongue tied for the first time in his adult life when talking to a woman, other than all those times with the youthful Caeide, of course.

They did end up talking, though he never remembered just what they talked about. They did share some sweet kisses, as they had during her visit to the camp, and as his breathing quickened, and his thoughts strayed away from talking, even away from kissing, he felt that faraway tug, and knew their time together was coming to a close. He looked at her, reluctant to say goodby once again, reached out his hand to caress her cheek.

"Thank you, luv, for everything." She tilted her head, looked at him, slightly worried at his seriousness. "Thank you, for not giving up on me, for still writing. For being there when I needed you. For 'aving a care for Andrew, for 'elping me get 'im back. Thank you, for giving me 'ope, for showing me what might be, giving me some peace."

And he kissed her again, slowly, lingering over the touch, the taste of her lips. They were still touching when morning came at the camp, and she faded from his arms, and he felt his heart sadden with the loss, though comforted that in his dreams he had been able to say all the things he knew he'd not be able to say out loud.

"Rous, Rous, roll call, everyone out, roll call," Schultz bellowed as he stormed through the door.

"Alright, Schultzie, don't 'ave to shout, we 'ear you; could bloody well 'ear you in Paris, they could, right, Louie?" Newkirk grumbled as he pulled on his trousers, then started to pull off his nightshirt to hurridly dress himself in his worn uniform sweater and jacket.

"Pierre, what on earth do you have all over your nightshirt?!" Louie asked, and they all looked down at the heavy accumulation of coarse red hairs scattered all around the lower half of the long white and grey striped shirt.

Peter heaved a deep sigh, closed his eyes tight and shook his head, "can't imagine, Louie old chum, 'aven't a clue!," while Andrew looked at the hairs, then up at Peter, his eyes huge, and the grin got even wider than usual. Then, a look of apprehension crossed his face as he wondered whether she'd happened to mention her state of dress, or rather her state of un-dress when she spent those cold hours with him on that rocky ledge, huddled under that heavy red fur coat. Then he grinned again. Even if she had, and even if Peter made him pay for that, it'd been worth it! WOW! 

***  
It was another two weeks before it showed up under his sad excuse for a pillow. Just a narrow bracelet, woven from what looked like hair. He frowned, touching it, running his forefinger over it carefully, trying not to muss the braiding. He'd known the hairs had disappeared from his nightshirt, well, most of them. He'd been both sad and relieved at that; he liked the reminder, but at the same time, he had to admit it had been a sort of itchy reminder. He remembered Andrew had done some braiding with threads, cords, and was sure this was his work, but why was it so familiar? And he sat on his bunk with a thud, back hitting the wall, remembering that bit of keepsake Maudie had made for him.

"Oh, good, you found it! Hope you . . . Hey, buddy, you okay?"

He turned his stunned eyes to Andrew, "that big red dog, back of Maudie's pub; that was . . ." and innocent, naive, clueless Andrew Carter looked at Peter Newkirk with the most incredulous look on his face.

"And you just figured that out??! Geeze, Peter, I knew that a long time ago!" And Peter Newkirk sat there with his mouth open, stunned now on so many levels!

Later, in his bunk, he let his mind drift back to that time in London, a whole lifetime ago. He remembered the pain and despair he'd felt when he heard about Henry, and how he'd decided it wouldn't be a bad thing, ending it all before someone got hurt, like Henry's girl Lizzie had gotten hurt. Wandering the alleys of the East End of London, late at night, bottle in hand, acting like a bloody garden tool, just begging someone to finish him off - would've happened too, without a little help from his friends.

Well, alright, a lot of help. Maude and Marisol, there with a willing ear, there with a sharp slap upside his head too, when they thought that was what was needed. His mates, with their gruff understanding. That was later, though, when he was able to talk about it some.

But that first night, when he'd taken the bottle of whiskey and his cigarettes, and started out to end it all, 'suicide by stupidity' it was called in his part of town, or words to that effect. Sauntering down those dark spaces, sometimes avoiding the puddles in the broken cobblestones, sometimes just splashing through, acting more like a half-wit than a seasoned veteran of this dangerous place. And the dog, following his footsteps, scaring away those who followed; oh, yes, he'd heard them both, the soft padding and deep growls that raised the hair on the back of his neck wondering what these alleys held that made a noise like that - and the familiar rustle of clothing, that soft 'shick' as a blade left its home, as the more familiar predators stalked him. Hearing that scurrying as they fled the perhaps more dangerous predator that followed him on four legs, wondering when the attack would come, when he'd feel the weight and heat and teeth of whatever was stalking him. Turning to see it, bigger than any dog he'd ever seen running loose, powerful and dangerous. Thinking he should be afraid, but not quite managing it.

And that night, sitting on the steps of that old building, smoking, drinking - Peter thought to himself, {"did everything but paint a bleedin' bullseye on my chest!"} Somehow, talking to the big beast sitting at his feet was just easier than talking to Maude or any of the others; and the longer he talked, the closer the beast got, til at the end, it was pressed so close its hair was embedding itself in his clothing. Peter remembered how warm the big animal felt, leaning against him, and how when he gave up and let the tears flow freely, his arms found themselves wrapped around that furry body, the two so close together, that it only took a tilt of the big head for that wet tongue to lick away the tears from his face, his eyes. It wasn't the last time it had come to comfort him, and he missed it when it stopped coming, though it still appeared in his dreams sometimes.

He thought of that little fob Maude had woven from its hair; he'd carried that with him til it started breaking apart, then he'd had Maudie sew him a tiny pouch to tuck the remainer in and had carried that, all the time til he was captured, and when he awoke it was gone. He remembered how he'd missed it, that last little bit of home. In the darkness, his fingers lightly touched the bracelet of woven hair, and smiled. {"Thank you, Andrew. Thank you, Caeide love. Thank you both."} And he sighed, rolled over, and went to sleep.


	5. In The Nick of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter wasn't sure he was happy with all the visiting he'd been doing lately, and now to be dragging young Andrew along with him, well, that just seemed really off. The duo find, however, that this time it's in response to another's need, not their own. As they rise to meet the demand, their thoughts turn to after the war, and they take some comfort while leaving behind some of their own.

He was walking down that bloody path again, fields to one side of him, cliffs behind him, sea off to the right. It felt a bit like coming home, which was most peculiar seeing he'd only been here in his mind, or in his dreams, or whatever the heck you'd call what he was doing now. "Though it's colder now, almost feels like snow coming in." He frowned, "wouldn't think you notice the change of seasons in a dream, or feel the bloody cold so much," raising his hands to pull the collar of his jacket higher, only to find he was once again in that bleedin nightshirt, no collar to pull anywhere! He noticed his feet were bare, and he could feel every pebble in the pathway. He stumbled slightly over a dip to the side. "Need to write and ask 'er to keep this in better repair if I'm to go wandering over it all the time." 

"Well, that seems to be asking a lot, if you ask me, seeing she doesn't know when you're gonna come," he heard, and his eyes near popped out of his skull as he whirled to see Andrew pacing along about six feet behind him.

"Andrew! What the bloody 'ell are YOU doing 'ere??!"

A casual shrug and look of total innocence met that, "haven't a clue. One minute I'm stocking the shelves at Perkins Drugstore, only with timers, and wire, and explosives, and the next minute, poof! I'm walking through a pasture with horses in it, and HEY! Peter, I think I met Angie, at least it looked like it could be her, and she's all big and round again, so I think she's going to have another baby soon!" Andrew Carter grinned madly at his English friend, who was standing there utterly appalled. {"Bad enough I go traveling without any notice! Now, I've got young Andrew trailing along after me! Just what's going on??!"}

Discussing the possibilities didn't seem to let them come to any resolution, so they turned and made their way down toward the big house. "You know, I didn't think that porch was going to be that big. That must be really nice to sit out on in the evening, or have coffee on in the morning! And I think that little garden, right by the steps, I think that must be new, don't you?"

Peter cast a baleful look over at his shorter teammate, "I wouldn't know, Andrew, I'm not much of a gardener," not that his discouraging tone had any impact on his friend at all. They walked slowly up the steps, and through the door. There was no one to be seen, and they wandered, finally ending up at the doorway of the room Peter had been in last time he'd come here. 

They stopped, then dashed forward to the limp figure of the redhead stretched out on the floor, head turning from side to side, face and body covered in sweat, thin robe soaked with it.

"Caeide!" Peter called to her, "luv, what is it??!" easing her onto the bed, up on the pillows, moving her into a better position. Her eyes fluttered slightly, and the tip of her tongue came out to try and moisten dry lips.

"Adder, trying to keep warm in the chicken coop. Didn't see him in time." She was gasping for breath after that bit of explanation, and both Peter and Andrew were now frantically searching her body for the bite mark.

"Here, Peter," said Andrew, pulling the skirt of the robe away from her leg. She'd obviously tried to drain the poison, from the marks on her leg, but too much had already been in her system to do a lot of good. Peter was frantic; he'd had no experience with snakes, snake bites or anything of the sort. He raised his eyes to Andrew, 'Andrew, you any idea . . ." to heave a sigh of relief at the calm competence showing in the eyes meeting his.

"Yeah, here's what we need to do . . ." and the time was spent at first in a scurry, treating her; then slightly slower, in getting her into a dry robe, taking one from the closet at the side of the room. Finally, there was only the waiting, and they settled down beside her, one sitting on each side of the bed, each holding a hand, each watching her face. Finally, with her weak and shaky, but now smiling at them, in warm affection, in gratitude, they took a moment to look at each other, in shared wonder, to feel that faint tug that meant dawn was breaking back at camp.

"Caeide luv," he started, with a worried frown, and Andrew leaning close, saying nothing, but not needing to.

"I know, yes, I'll be alright. Reverend Miles is due later today, he can get me any further help I might need, though I doubt I'll need much, you've done so well by me." She shook her head in wonder, in love, "lads, . . ." knowing there was so much to say that there was little that could be said. "Go in safety, my dears, til you come home again," finally she told them, with a sweet knowing smile.

Peter looked down at her, tilting his head at that, glanced over at Andrew, who was standing there in some confusion, then back at her. A wry smile crossed his face, "we'll just try to do that, luv," and with a mock fierce frown down at her, "just you try to do the same, eh??!" The room faded from view, and Peter once again heard the banging on the door, Schultz hollering at them to get up and get out for roll call. He heaved a deep sigh, got dressed and hurried out. Outside the door, he came face to face with Andrew, and the two looked at each other, reluctant knowledge in their eyes.

"Do you think she'll be okay?" Andrew whispered.

Peter just stared down at him, and swallowed, "I'd think so, Andrew, mostly due to you." He had a lot to think about, those last words to them echoing through his mind, raising possibilities he had hardly dared to think on before. Well, there was the rest of this bloomin' war to get through, and the way things were heating up, odds of them actually getting through it alive were getting slimmer by the day. If they made it through, if they got out of here, well, time enough then to consider the possibilities. But just to know that there WERE possibilities, that was something, a bit of a gift, and he'd think on it often.


	6. How Do I Love Thee?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit turns into an ever-so-sweet interlude, and it is rediscovered that love can be expressed in many ways. LeBeau is left puzzled, Caeide is left with some amused speculation. Oh, and wasn't Andrew supposed to be shy???

He was at Haven again, he could tell that. The clear skys, the cliffs beyond. He was standing on that big covered porch, looking out over the barns and fields and a huge garden, waiting, though he didn't know why, but he didn't mind; it was a singularly peaceful place to spend time. He'd arrived just moments before, and had found the house empty. What was he doing here? Last time he'd come, Caeide had needed him, and Andrew too; the time before that, he'd said some things that needed to be said, though he didn't know if that was the reason he'd been here, or if it was just part of what happened as they shared some sweet kisses; the times before that, well, he'd just sort of absorbed the place, as it were. Now? Now, he hadn't any idea.

He turned to look at the cliffs, at the path, and nothing drew him, so he turned to make his way into the house again. In, through the big kitchen, through the big front room. He turned, puzzled to look at the the table closest to the alcove. That, for some reason, looked familiar, though his mind couldn't make sense of why. He thought he heard footsteps from above, so that's where he headed. Up the stairs, to cross over the threshold of the room he'd visited before. No Caeide, though he heard the sound of water running now. He stepped in, paused at the bed, and turned with a start to the sound of the voice behind him, "any idea why we're here this time?", to see Andrew standing there with a bewildered look on his face.

"No, not a clue," he answered. "Though, any time I've been 'ere, couldn't see any special reason, except for last time, acourse."

They heard the shower cut off, and the door opened. Caeide, dressed in a long housedress, hair still damp at the edges, stepped out, looked at them, surprised, yet not surprised. She looked from Peter to Andrew and then back again; then a tiny smile came onto her face, growing into a larger smile.

"I'll make coffee, maybe you'll have time to share a cup with me before you have to head back. In the meantime, . . ." she made a motion with her hand, indicating the space around them, "it's all yours," and walked out, closing the door behind her.

Now they both had puzzled frowns on their faces, and shared a 'what the heck' shrug.

"Do you think we can even drink coffee here?" Andrew asked.

"Don't know, but it'd be nice. It'd 'ave to be better than that stuff we've gotten in the last shipment or two, don't ya think? Ya think maybe she 'as something to eat that would go with?"

They wandered around the room, looking at the handiwork, the pictures and drawings on the walls, and he took time to look out the long window, which faced the horse barn and pastures, trying to see why they were here. He started to make a comment, when he heard, maybe felt, something from Andrew, some sound, some feeling, he didn't quite know what. He turned, to see a look of longing he'd never seen before on that narrow face, well, other than the time he was pleading with the Colonel to let him keep that rabbit in the tunnel, that is.

"Andrew?" he started to ask, only to stop, take a deep breath and lick his lips at that look that he seemed to be the focus of. "Andrew?", now at a whisper, and wonder of wonders, Andrew came closer, close enough for Andrew to reach out his hand and touch him, to trace Peter's lips with his fingers, to give a tiny moan as he moved closer to kiss him, to trace the line of his lips with his tongue, to press close to him. Peter knew now he'd been right, it HAD been Andrew who'd kissed him in the cooler that night; he'd been sure before, almost positive, but now, yes, there was no doubt.

Suddenly it didn't matter, all of the very sound reasons Peter had not reached out to Andrew over these long years; it didn't matter anymore, not here, not now. He stretched out his arms, pulling the smaller man into his grasp, bending his head over to capture his lips, and they were together, tightly together from lips to knees, and it was as if the universe was suddenly in its proper place for the first time in a long time. Soon the kissing, satisfying as it was, wasn't enough, and they spawled out over that big welcoming bed, hands caressing, stroking. Peter's nightshirt ended up on the floor, and he had the vague thought, {"better remember to put that back on when we feel that bit of a tug bringing us back! Be in a 'ell of a bind trying to explain where it disappeared to! Not to mention missing it at night, acourse!"}

Andrew's eyes had gotten bigger, and he gulped, {"I've seen him naked before, plenty of times, in the showers, changing clothes; why is it so different now? Why does he look so beautiful stretched out on that quilt, and just how mad would he get if I told him that?"} with a little giggle.

He felt Peter frowning at him just a bit, "and just what was that about, Andrew?" Peter asked, knowing that tiny sound for what it was, taking a quick glance down at himself, {"everything looks in order to me, what did 'e find so amusing?"} wondering if he should have his feelings hurt. Somehow, from the heat in the younger man's eyes, he didn't think so, and from the way Andrew was now tracing the lines of his body with trembling fingers, at the way his breath was quickening, well, Peter didn't think Andrew was too disappointed in what he was finding.

He moved quickly to make sure Andrew's clothes joined his nightshirt, and did some investigating of his own with his long, clever fingers and found he wasn't disappointed either. Andrew was a bit scrawny, well, they all were, with the reduced rations and repeated bouts of illness, but with Andrew he rather felt it was a pretty natural state. It didn't put him off, it didn't matter, this was Andrew, that was enough. They moved together, touching, holding, murmuring things they'd maybe remember later, maybe not, til Andrew came with a high pitched whimper, pressing his head deep into Peter's shoulder, and Peter followed with a deep moan. They lay together, breathing heavily, damp with sweat.

"Think we can risk taking a shower?"

"Better not, best just towel off. We don't know 'ow much time we 'ave. Bloody 'ard to explain showing up naked and soaking wet in the bunks," and they laughed together at the thought.

They had just got themselves together when a gentle knock at the door brought them around, and Caeide was there with a tray - pot of coffee, real cream, some sort of hot flat breads wrapped around a filling of real scrambled eggs, bits of bacon, with a soft white cheese melted through it. They hurried to the table in the corner, and devoured the food, drank the coffee, which was indeed much better than what they'd been getting and strong enough to melt the spoon, which made the cream even more welcome. They had time to finish, to sit back and wonder that they'd been able to taste, to eat, and with a wondering look between Peter and Andrew, been able to experience all they had.

Caeide had a worried look on her face and she started to say something, then paused, and looked at Peter questioningly. She knew what had to be said would come better from him than from her, and he nodded back in understanding. He got a solemn look on his face, and a bit hesitantly, started to tell Andrew, "Andrew, you know, back there, we can't . . ." only to get a wry smile.

"Yeah, I know. It wouldn't work, and the Colonel, well . . ." Yeah, they both knew how well that would go over with the Colonel, as jealous as he was of Caeide even with her being so many miles away! The thought of Peter being with someone else, right there under his nose, that didn't bear thinking of, not as long as he was their commander, as long as he had the control, the power. She was relieved they understood that; she didn't know if they understood just how great the danger could be, but she knew they would be as cautious as they could.

Caeide reached out her hands and touched theirs; "there, is one thing; here, that is something else, loves. I don't know what allows you to come here, but you are welcome here, always. You are welcome here now, like this; you will be welcome here later, when you can perhaps stay longer, perhaps stay . . . " and her smile was rich and warm and so full of love that they just had to smile back, and then at each other.

The tug came, just a hint, as it always did at first, letting them know their time was coming to a close. They shared one more kiss, Peter and Andrew, then Peter turned and pulled Caeide into his arms, sharing a kiss equally as sweet. Andrew watched with a small grin, only to blush as she moved closer and kissed him ever so gently on the corner of the mouth. "Go in safety, til you can return, loves," and she watched with tears in her eyes as they faded from her view.

She sighed, and looked at the table with its now-empty plates, empty coffee cups, shaking her head that this had even been possible, but joyful that she had been able to share that much with them at least. She moved into the bedroom, to view the rumpled bed, the sharp musk of their lovemaking still lingering faintly in the air, "Someday, lads, fate willing, someday."

How Do I Love Thee -  
"Rous, Rous, everybody out, roll call, roll call."

"Schultz, do you have to make so much noise, I was having such a nice dream," came from LeBeau, and with much grumbling and moaning everyone pulled themselves up and got dressed and headed out into the compound.

Newkirk and Carter didn't make eye contact then, or later, though both claimed to not be very hungry and had Louie share out their portions of the breakfast to the rest of the famished men. Later, after clean-up detail, after a mandatory turn at the volleyball nets (that being the day's exercise), they sat on a bench outside the recreation hall. Peter drew out a cigarette, lit it, took a deep drag and passed it to Andrew, still not looking at him. It was one of the shorter benches, so their shoulders were pressed together; there was no other way for two men to share that bench. They'd waited, lingering here and there, making desultory conversations with the other prisoners til the other, more desirable benches had been taken, waited without saying anything to each other, just knowing, just to get that bench, just to have that touching that no one could question.

Hogan strolled over to them, "what's with you two passing on breakfast? You coming down with something?"

"Naw, nothin' like that, Gov. Just dreamed I 'ad a big meal and somehow it filled me right up. Figure I'll be more than ready for my kip next time around."

Andrew gave Hogan a bright smile, "me, I just wasn't so hungry this morning," and didn't elaborate. He didn't lie well and knew it, so he didn't even try. The three of them talked of various things, then Hogan made his way to talk to Kinch and LeBeau sitting together on the other side of the compound. Another cigarette was lit, and they finally turned their heads toward each other, letting their eyes meet. Rueful smiles, filled with knowledge, came and went, and they turned their eyes to the compound again, til the cigarette was finished, and they rose to join the others gathering at the corner of Barracks 2. Time to get back to the war, to their daily lives, to what their existence was, here and now.

How Do I Love Thee -  
A long night, a mission, successful, no problems for a change, except for getting caught in that miserably cold rainstorm on the way back. They made it back through the tunnel, Kinch remarking "you three look like drowned rats!" then with an amused grin, "well, two drowned rats and one drowned mouse," making LeBeau pucker up and try to explain he was not a souris, he was just as much a rat as the other two, which led to him having to explain to Carter that souris was the French word for mouse, which led to Carter saying he didn't understand why Louie couldn't just have said mouse and make the whole explanation unnecessary in the first place, and what was wrong with being a mouse, Felix seemed to like it just fine, and what made him think it was better to be a rat, which Carter didn't think was a very nice thing for Kinch to be calling them anyway, all the while Newkirk rolling his eyes and muttering about something or other totally irrelevant that Kinch could see.

At that point, Colonel Hogan, standing at the doorway put a stop to the comedy act by interjecting, "I hate to intrude, but would someone like to report on the mission, did it get done, anything go wrong, all that, or would you prefer to stand there dripping discussing how much like rodents you all look?" all with the arch, calm look of someone who had not been out tramping through the woods for hours and ending up soaked and tired as a result. {"Oh,"} thought Peter, {"also a bit bruised,"} remembering the number of times he'd had to pick Andrew up off the forest floor.

They reported, they all changed out of the dark clothes, hanging them up to drip in a side tunnel, and changed into their uniforms. Peter noticed that he'd been right, Andrew had picked up a fine variety of bruises, a couple of scrapes, and a rather nasty looking graze on his shin. When they got back topside, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking a couple of drags, then handing it over to the smaller man sitting huddled on his bunk.

"Cor, Andrew, you look even more miserable than I feel, and that's saying something!" He shook his head, then went to his footlocker and pulled out a small tin, about the size of his palm. "Pull up that pant's leg, there's a good lad! No, you twit! The other one, where you landed wrong when you went off the side of the trail, the second time you went off the side of the trail, that is!" and twisting off the green top, gently spread the creamy salve over the graze, scolding Carter all the while for being such a clumsy git as to make this necessary, and how he might as well ask that this start being sent to him in fifty gallon drums if Carter was going to continue this sort of behavior.

"Louie, we got a piece of gauze tucked away anywhere?" he asked, and LeBeau, grumbling, got out a piece of the precious gauze he'd intended to use to make bouquet garni, provided he ever found the right herbs. It was obvious by the way he helped bandage the graze that his grumbling was all as much a show as Newkirk's was.

Hogan looked on placidly; he was pleased at the camaraderie among his men, and no matter how Newkirk twitted Andrew, about his clumsiness, about his chattering, and about his overwhelming naivete, he knew the Englishman thought of the younger American as a kid brother, and made a point of looking out for him. They all did, in fact, and that helped make the whole unit work; he knew they needed to care about each other, look on each as brothers as well as team mates, and he was glad about how well the whole arrangement worked.

Newkirk finished, tied off the gauze with deceptively brisk movements that belied the very gentle touch, and tugged the pants leg back down. His back turned to the room, he raised his eyes to Andrew's, and in a brisk scolding tone, "now, next time out, try to watch where you're going for a change, eh Andrew??!" and no one else saw the tender look and tiny smile on his face, only Andrew, who, only a moment ago thought he was never going to get warm again, suddenly felt as warm and snug and cozy as he had in the bedroom in Haven, after the loving.

"Sure thing, Peter," he replied with a cheeky grin, his eyes also saying what couldn't be said out loud.

Suddenly Hogan got a tiny frown on his face, "where do you get that salve, Newkirk?" It was good to have around, it'd been used more than once and was very effective, but all of a sudden he wondered about the source. Peter could tell by that bit of a frown, the look on the Colonel's face what he was thinking, and so he told what was literally, if not actually, the truth.

"Get it sent to me by someone what used to work out of the East End, though 'e's a bit farther south of that now. A J Riley, 'is name; 'e's a doctor but knows more than a bit about the old remedies too, and 'e more than swears by that stuff, especially when the more costly medicines aren't to be found." He gave an open grin to Hogan, noting with relief the relaxing of the American officer's face. {"No need to tell 'im it's a Clan recipe, made most likely by Meghada or one of the sisters and given to Riley to send on to me. It's too bloody useful, to 'ave 'im come up with a reason not to accept it, to use it as we need."}

***  
How Do I Love Thee -  
It had been a long week, mission after mission, and they had all missed out on their sleep. Tonight, at last, they had nothing that had to be done, nothing to be blown up, no German base to be infiltrated, no sneaking around planting bugs or rifling safes, just finally a night when they could get some sleep. They didn't know how that had happened; maybe Hogan had run out of ideas for once, or maybe even he'd gotten tired! Finally, peace, quiet, sleep.

Except, Peter couldn't sleep! He twisted, he turned, the thin blanket rumpling under and around him, causing him to have to sit up, curse, and untangle himself from it and from his nightshirt more than once. Muttered curses came at him from around the room more than once too, as his continuous movement kept the others awake, or woke them after they got to sleep.

"Pierre, will you please settle down??! You are driving me mad!" came an annoyed hiss from LeBeau's corner. {"Oh, right, like I'm doing this apurpose! This bloody mattress is never comfortable, but tonight, it's like it's stuffed with rocks rather than those bleedin' wood chips!"}

He heaved a deep sigh and turned again, this time getting a "Pete! Stop it before we tie you up and toss you in a corner somewhere down in the tunnels!" from the usually easygoing Kinch.

Carter hadn't said anything, but he was frowning up at the bunk over his head. He thought about it, then got a big lopsided grin on his face and dug under his pillow. He eased out of the bunk as quietly as he could, reached his hand up to touch Newkirk's. Then with a comforting pat, he got back into his bunk and settled down to listen. He heard the slight chuckle, and the deep sigh from above, and the rustling noise as Peter eased down into the lumpy mattress once again, and as his breathing slowed and became even, and eventually that tiny snore that they were so used to it didn't bother them, the one that was nothing in comparison to the noises some of the men made, and the barracks settled down to sleep the night away.

Quietly, in the morning, without anyone seeing, Peter handed it back to Andrew - that small hand-sized stuffed horse that looked so much like Angie, that indeed, had been stuffed with hair brushed out of Angie's winter coat and knit from the wool that came from the sheep that grazed on Haven's slopes, and dyed the right color with herbs from the hillside, and wore a bright cloth saddle, made from a scrap of the robe the mistress of Haven had worn during that early 'visit'. Though, if anyone asked him, and they did, it being such an unusual thing, the package that had arrived in, along with various other ones, well, it came from a cousin who made such things as a pasttime. And indeed, the address had been one in the States, and the name an Indian name that easily could have been one of his cousins; he sometimes wondered how she managed that.

 

How Do I Love Thee - 

She woke with a start, sat up, stiff with shock at the sight of them standing at the end of her bed, frightened at first, they looked so tired and drawn, and for a change, in their uniforms. Almost she could have thought . . . She gave a huge sigh of relief at the rueful smiles now appearing on each pallid face.

"Well, 'ere we are again, it seems, Caeide luv," came from the tall Englishman, while Andrew was just looking around, bewildered.

"Caeide, what happened to the room?" as if that was important!

"Just a bit of spring cleaning, love, curtains and such are all hanging out on the line."

Peter noticed for the first time the total absence of rugs, curtains, dresser scarfs, even the big embroidered quilt that graced her bed normally. The bed now contained just plain sheets, a woolen blanket, and his Caeide, dressed in . . . well, now to mention it, not dressed in anything at all that he could see! {"Now just 'ow did that escape my notice??!"} Though from the flush now filling Andrew's face, he had overlooked that bit of information first time around as well, and was just now taking in the view, {"and a very nice view it is, too, very nice indeed!"} 

"Should I ask why you are dressed formally, for a change?" Her eyes got big and her voice became sharp, "you're not out of camp on a mission are you, and fallen asleep? Lads! That's not safe! We don't know how alert you are on the other end when you go traveling, you know!"

"Nay, lass, we're just in the cooler," Peter admitted, slightly embarrassed. Well, not at the being in there, that wasn't so uncommon, and it was often for a good cause, but this time? Well, it had been monkey-business, pure and simple, and even Hogan was annoyed with them over it. They took turns explaining what had caused their temporary lodging, and she started with staring, worked her way along to giggling, and ended up laughing so hard she thought she might hurt herself.

"You two are a menace, you know that??!" She looked at them more closely, "you seem to be dry, and dressed. Are you hungry, thirsty? I can fix something," she offered eagerly. At their assurances that Louie had taken care of that, they were well tended, she lifted her eyebrows at them, "then what hospitality can I offer? I can go work in the office and give you some privacy," but a slight smile on the Englishman's face, along with those eyes drifting over what she now realized was her bare top half, made her tilt her head in some apprehension.

{"Just what is he thinking?"} only to catch her breath as she realized exactly what he was thinking. {"To quote him, Oh Bloody 'ell!"} and she licked her lips, and realized she was trembling.

Somehow she'd thought her first time with him would be, well, more corporeal, and perhaps just the two of them. She listened as he spoke to Andrew, saw Andrew's eyes get huge and look over at her as if asking if he should listen to Peter. She hesitated, then gave a nod, to watch him start to undress with rather more alacrity than she'd have thought the seemingly shy young man would show. Well, maybe he wasn't so shy after all, or maybe it was just in the dream visits that was the case. Peter had already accomplished that undressing, she saw, and her thoughts as she saw him move easily toward the side of the bed echoed those Andrew had thought on their previous visit, {"how beautiful he is, no matter those scars, and how annoyed he'd be if I told him so."} 

A time of giving and receiving, of touching and experimenting and laughter and gasps and deep sighs, all culminating in sweet fulfilment, whether expressed in whimpers, moans, or a combination of those and other sounds, to be followed by arms encircling, heads resting on shoulders, contentment of a type rarely felt by any of the three.

The tug, when it came, registered dimmly on their consciousness, then when it came again, more strongly, their eyes widened with shock and the two visitors dashed to get dressed. There was barely time for a quick kiss between each of them before Peter and Andrew returned to those hard wooden benches in the cooler, and Caeide stood alone beside that totally disheveled bed. The thought did cross her mind, about what was proving possible on these visits. They could move from place to place, they could eat and drink, they could touch, kiss, obviously they could make love. She wondered, just what else was possible, and realized she'd be watching the calendar much more closely that usual for awhile. She wasn't sure even the Clan would believe THAT explanation if she turned up in the family way! She laid her hand gently on her abdomen, smiled wistfully at the thought, chuckled, and went about her day's work, thinking of them.

Back in the cooler, the two men sharing adjoining cells looked over at solid wall separating them, their faces displaying amazingly similar delighted grins, stretched back out on the uncomfortable surface, and fell into a deep, contented sleep. When LeBeau came in thru the tunnel that opened to the galley outside the cells to bring them their breakfasts, he stood and saw each of them sleeping there, each smiling in their sleep, looked at them in puzzlement, {"never have I seen such looks of, of, well, I don't know what, but the cooler seems an odd place for it, I must say."}


End file.
